


Cabin Fever

by RedFive



Series: Nothing Sweeter [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Knifeplay, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, dark!Will, drunk tells, drunken afternoons, frose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: The murder husbands are on vacation kicking back and getting entirely too drunk. Snuggles are had, secrets are revealed, and the world will finally know what Hannibal Lecter's drunk tell is.





	Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn/gifts).



> I did it you, y'all! I did it! I WROTE FLUFF AND NOBODY GOT HURT OR DIED! You laugh, but this is extremely difficult for me. Case in Point: [Through the Force You'll Find Me.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12472932)
> 
> Beta'ed by the amazing [@wolftrapqueen27!](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/wolftrapqueen27) And thanks as always to [@confusedkayt](http://confusedkayt.tumblr.com) for introducing me to the magic and majesty of Frose.

It was far too quiet in the cabin for any sort of comfort. Where the devil was Hannibal?  He'd been gone for nearly twenty minutes. It didn't take THAT long to make a new batch of Frosé. Will didn't like this one bit.  
  
He glared at their empty glasses and noticed there was still one sip left in Hannibal's. The formerly frozen drink was no less sweet or delicious for having melted. He chugged it back and checked his watch for the third time. Yup, twenty minutes exactly. Time to send out the search party before bodies began to drop.  
  
"Haaaaaaannibal," Will called from the couch where he lay stretched out with his boots on the armrest since Hannibal was not in the room to yell at him.  
  
There was no answer from the kitchen, an ill omen indeed.

"Hey, Old Man, did you fall and crack your hip in there?" But not even the old man joke got a rise out of him today.  
  
"Christ," Will groaned hoping Hannibal hadn't slipped out the back on some errand of dark intent. For what, Will couldn't even guess, but he was sure whatever it was would be overwrought and unnecessary. Case in point: the new, MATCHING couples skies Hannibal had purchased for their little vacation, despite Will's repeated insistence that he hated skiing.  
  
Will stood up and the room swayed for a moment. He stumbled past an absurd number of empty glasses, evidence of their many transgressions, but whatever.  When in Mürren do as...well, Will knew Frosé had nothing to do with Mürren, but fuck it. He wasn't going to turn down a boozy bender with his boyfriend because of common sense. Case in point part two: the fact that it was snowing outside and there were more sensible beverages they could be drinking, such as a hot cider.

Will found the Ripper exactly where you'd expect to find him, radiant beneath the track lighting of a clean and immaculately stocked kitchen. A full pitcher of Frosé sat at his left hand, half-melted and ignored, which seemed odd.  
  
Hannibal stood over the kitchen sink gripping the countertop with white knuckles. His back was turned to Will, but there was something off about his countenance. He stood preternaturally still and leaning part way over the sink, like he might be sick.  
  
"Yo, are you okay?" Will asked approaching with caution. He'd actually never seen Hannibal sick to be honest. He didn't even have allergies, which Will found supremely obnoxious. But Hannibal seemed the sort to be melodramatic about it, and that was reason enough to step lightly around him now.

"Fine," Hannibal grunted.  
  
In other words, "not fine at all." Hannibal didn’t use one word answers for "fine." He used ten in as many languages. One word answers were for disasters, but oh well. Will was committed now.

"Well that's about as big a lie as I've ever heard. What's wrong? You drink too much?"  
  
Hannibal's shoulders gave a little jump.

Bingo. 

"Oh my god, you did! Haha! After all that lecturing about my needing to "hydrate!" Care for a long lecture on the fairness of Karma, Doctor Lecter? Let’s see if I can remember the one you gave me last week after I got food poisoning from that street cart.”  
  
"Will, please," Hannibal whined sounding genuinely pained, “leave me be.”

Will ignored the dismal plea and went to his boyfriend's side instead. He saw a half empty glass of water on the countertop and beads of sweat on Hannibal's brow. He really wasn’t fine.

Now the guilt began to set in. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said and rubbed Hannibal's back. "It's going to be okay. Let's get you to bed if you're going to be sick."

Hannibal glared at him harder than if Will had spilled marinara on his favorite suit. "I am not sick. I just—," but his retort was interrupted by a soft and small hiccup.  
  
The doctor clapped a hand over his mouth, but not fast enough to hide his embarrassment or the pink staining his cheeks.  
  
Will blinked and drew back. He was positive he had misheard, but Pandora's box had been opened. Hannibal squeaked again not five seconds later.  
  
"You...,"  
  
"Get the hiccups like any normal person!" Hannibal snapped and drained his glass of water.  
  
"I've never seen it. Oh my God, Hannibal...are you drunk? Is this your drunk tell? Hiccups? Oh, Frederick would love this.”

Hannibal ignored him and refilled his glass, but when he tried to drink again another fit caused him to spit up on himself, or more importantly, on his favorite cashmere sweater.  
  
"GOD IN HEAVEN!" Hannibal shouted and tossed the glass into the sink. It shattered into half a dozen pieces at about the same time as Will did.  
  
"IT IS!!!" Will said clutching his aching stomach as he laughed.  
  
Hannibal growled, squeaked, then threw up his hands in frustration. "It is nothing to—*hic*#8212;laugh at, Will. They won't—*hic*—stop."  
  
Will could only imagine how annoyed Hannibal must feel right now. The indignity. The lack of control. He was at the mercy of his body's involuntary responses, and Will was willing to bet he was about ready to rip out his own lungs and fry them up if it would end this torture. Will loved every moment of it, but he knew that as Hannibal's “loving” partner he should probably do something to comfort him.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Will pushed off the island and grabbed his boyfriend by the v-neck of his soft, grey sweater. 

"Did you try holding your breath?" Will asked and drew Hannibal into a deep kiss.  
  
Hannibal hesitated at first then placed his hands on Will's hips and pulled him closer. But just when both men thought the unorthodox treatment was working, Will felt Hannibal's grip tighten.  
  
Will laughed into Hannibal's mouth even before the next squeak came. He couldn't help himself. Hannibal's hiccups were as abnormal as the rest of him. The sound was just too little to come from the legendary manslayer.

Hannibal threw Will against the kitchen island and stepped back. "Stop it—*hic*—Will.  
  
"I'm sorry. Let me try again?"  
  
"Only—*hic*—if you control yourself."  
  
"One of us has to, squeaky.”

"Will!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry! Can't imagine why I'm like this. It's like I learned to enjoy someone else’s pain,” he said and took a menacing step towards Hannibal. It suddenly occurred to him how much his boots sounded like the click of hooves against the hardwood.

“I didn't teach you to be so annoying—*hic*—about it,” Hannibal grumbled, missing the change in tone of Will’s teasing. His mind was sluggish from all the alcohol and distracted by his internal fight to regain control of his body. That made him vulnerable—the perfect target.

“It's always kitchens with us,” Will murmured huskily and took another step, which brought him within reach of the block of knives which sat at Hannibal’s left. He reached for one of the smaller knives.

That drew Hannibal’s attention. “Will? *hic* What are you playing at?” He asked with genuine nervousness. For all their talk of forgiveness and happily ever after, the cliff was never too far from either of their minds. Will understood what he was capable of, they both did—intimately.

“I'm not playing. I'm remembering.” Will said and pressed the blade of the knife against Hannibal’s stomach. “Is this where you stabbed me?"

Hannibal picked up Will’s wrist and adjusted the hand until the angle and positioning was exactly right. He never even looked down. “Trying to scare them out of me, William?”

“William” was for the times when Will used Hannibal’s best kitchen knives to clean fish. “William" was for the times he refused to accompany Hannibal on certain hunting trips when the prey was not to Will's tastes. “William” was for mud on the carpets, drinking milk from the carton, migraines, and all the times in between.

Will pressed the blade more firmly against Hannibal’s stomach albeit not with enough pressure to break either fabric or skin. _What right do you have to be cross with me?! You stabbed ME, asshole!_ he thought, growing irritated. “Is it working?”

Hannibal exhaled slowly and stroked the back Will’s hand. “Harder.”

Any harder and Will might just stab Hannibal for real. Part of him wanted to. Part of him would **always** want to. “If you flinch, even a hair, I’ll cut you, Hannibal. Do you understand?”

Hannibal nodded solemnly.

They had talked about knifeplay before, about their limits and safewords, but Will had deemed it too dangerous then.

And it was still too dangerous…

“ _William_ ,” Hannibal cooed.

Will glared. It would be so easy to slide the knife into Hannibal's soft stomach and...

 _He wants me to do it, fuck me. Fuck!_ Will realized, but this was not the right time. They were both drunk and in an unfamiliar country. If Will made any errors and cut too deeply, a hospital visit might be required, which could put them back on the FBI’s radar.

 _Put the knife down,_ he begged himself. _Please, please, please, put the knife down._

But Will stood stock-still with the knife pressed against Hannibal’s belly and his vision red.

On the other side of the blade, Hannibal squirmed and not just because of Will’s dominant posturing. Another hiccup was building in his chest though he tried to fight it. At the last moment, Will lifted the knife away before Hannibal could inadvertently impale himself.

“*hic* Blet!” Hannibal cursed in his native tongue and pounded his fist against the counter.

Will’s darkness slid back into the recesses of his mind, and he fell forward with tears of laughter in his eyes. He laid his head on Hannibal’s shoulder and buried his face in the hollow of his neck.

Three soft squeaks followed in rapid succession, *hic, hic, hic.* They tickled Will’s nose like dandelion seeds, and his thoughts of anger and resentment scattered on the wind.

“They are getting worse,” Will said.

“I noticed. *hic*” Hannibal said. He sounded miserable.

A good husband might be moved to pity. A good husband might think to provide comfort to his poor beleaguered spouse. And Will was going to do all that...in a way. “What’s to be done about that?” He said and kissed Hannibal's neck. 

“The knife. *hic* There is always the knife.”

“I have a better idea,” Will said and unbuttoned the fly of Hannibal’s pants. 

Hannibal snaked one hand around Will’s left butt cheek. “Go on, I'm listening.”

Will reached for the pitcher of melting Frosé, drank as much as he could chug, and went down on his knees.

Hannibal yelped AND hiccupped when Will took his cock into his ice, cold mouth. “You are a cruel man, _William_.”

Will pulled himself off Hannibal’s thickening cock. “I am…when I need to be. Now, hold your breath, Hannibal. I hear that helps.”

“Mmmm, you make that hard, my love," he said and reached down and grabbed a fistful of Will's hair. 

“That’s the idea.”

“Stop that,” Hannibal smiled back at the terrible joke. Then closed his eyes and rested his head against a cabinet door.“You’re terrible,” he breathed, yet his tone was one of soft delight.

“We both are," Will grinned. 

“*hic*”

  
  



End file.
